Whumptober 2019 - 12 - Don't Move
by DinerGuy
Summary: 2018 reboot. It was supposed to be another Saturday full of surf and sun. At least, that was the plan before two idiots decided to hold up the convenience store.


_A/N: Spreading the love some more this month. Hehe..._

_Standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

"Can't wait to get my breakfast dog." Rick grinned as the van pulled into the parking space in front of the store. "Best part of a Saturday morning."

T.C. rolled his eyes. "Man, you gotta stop with that. Just because you put 'breakfast' in front of something doesn't make it breakfast. And you need more nutrition in the morning than a _hot dog."_

"Don't hate on my breakfast dogs," Rick retorted, smirking at his friend. "You can drink your weird aloe water if you want. I'll enjoy my delicious breakfast all _I _want."

With a good-natured sigh, T.C. shook his head. "Whatever. It's your health, bro."

They continued their friendly banter as they made their way through the convenience store. T.C. grabbed his drink while Rick headed for the microwave near the middle of the shop. Both had just headed to the register, falling in step next to each other behind the couple of customers already in line, when two men charged through the front door.

Rick and T.C. were on edge the minute they glanced up and saw the bandanas tied around the bottom of the men's faces. The reason for their arrival couldn't have been more clear, but it was made even more so by the pistols both had clenched in their hands.

The friends exchanged glances and were clearly thinking the same thing. They could take these guys if there weren't bystanders who might end up hit by a stray bullet if something went wrong.

"Open the register!" the taller of the robbers yelled, his weapon aimed at the cashier. "And don't even think about pressing an alarm!"

"We hear sirens, and we shoot everyone!" his buddy added. "So no funny business!"

If that had been the long and short of it, Rick and T.C. would have let the two idiots take the money and go. Neither of the masked men seemed very experienced, and it wasn't worth risking everyone's lives just to keep the bad guys from making off with some cash. It wasn't necessarily their _favorite _decision, but it would be worth it.

Except… it _didn't _end with that.

When T.C. glanced around to gauge how panicked the other customers were, one—a boy who looked like he was about fourteen or so—caught his eye. T.C. could tell from the way the kid's expression was darting from the robbers to the exit door that he was contemplating something he'd regret. Unfortunately, the boy never looked in T.C.'s direction, so the man couldn't try to dissuade him, but T.C. knew kids. He could tell what this boy was thinking and just hoped the kid would be able to resist the temptation to escape long enough to avoid getting himself hurt—or worse.

In the next moment, when the gunmen's attention was both fully focused on the convenience store employee who was scrambling to obey their orders, the boy bolted for the exit.

T.C. was moving even before the shorter of the robbers swung around. Neither of the gunmen seemed like they knew what they were doing with their weapons, and the looks in their eyes had told him that any little thing would be likely to set them off.

And sure enough, the short man yelled something about staying put even as he lifted his gun, and T.C. just managed to reach him as he pulled the trigger.

They went down to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, and, at first, T.C. almost didn't feel the pain of the bullet that had torn through his arm. Between the shock and the initial surge of adrenaline, all he knew was a shot had gone off and that he and the robber were staring at each other in blank confusion.

Then the man shoved him, and he tipped forward. When he tried to catch himself, his left arm refused to hold his weight, and he fell to the tile floor with a cry of pain.

* * *

Rick watched as the robber scrambled to his feet, even as he saw his friend collapsing and blood started to gather underneath him. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd also seen T.C.'s head impact with the floor when he fell. The way the other man's chest was heaving wasn't lost on Rick, and he darted forward. "T.C.!"

"Don't move!"

But he was already nearly at T.C.'s side, so Rick dropped to his knees next to his friend even as his hands went up almost instinctively. "Look, man, I've got medical training, okay? Just let me take a look at him."

"I _said_ don't move!" came the snapped reply. "Do you want to get shot, too?"

Rick shook his head, hands still upraised. "Do _you_ want to go to jail for murder? Because I guarantee that's what's going to happen if you let him die."

At that, the two robbers exchanged glances. Rick could see in his peripheral vision as the other customers shifted uncertainly, but he didn't have time to worry about them at the moment. He was solely focused on the two guys currently pointing guns his way. They looked uncertain, and Rick decided to use that to his advantage; after all, he wasn't about to sit still and wait for them to make a decision with T.C. was bleeding in front of him.

Rick reached forward and moved his friend's shirt to try to get a better idea of the damage that had been done. The bullet had hit just past his shoulder, and so Rick had to gingerly slide the short sleeve of T.C.'s yellow Island Hoppers shirt to check the wound that had already soaked through the shirt and was dripping blood underneath him.

When T.C. winced in pain, Rick bit his lip in sympathy. "I'm sorry, man; I need to take a look."

T.C. nodded breathlessly. "I'll be fine, Rick; it's just a scratch."

Rick's eyebrow went up at that. "Yeah, right; 'just a scratch.'" He surveyed his friend's bicep. There was no exit wound, meaning the bullet was still inside. Shaking his head, he looked over at the two gunmen, who were watching him with looks somewhere between anger and curiosity.

The two customers who had been in line before Rick and T.C. had walked up were currently shifting where they stood still near the counter, and the boy T.C. had saved had pulled up short when the gun had gone off. He was now standing uncertainly near the door as if he was still debating making a break for it. Rick caught the kid's eye and tilted his head, trying to tell him to get back before he caused even more trouble.

One of the customers, a woman, shot the robbers a look and then moved to unwrap the gauzy scarf from around her neck. She held it out toward Rick with another nervous glance over her shoulder, as if expecting retaliation for her actions.

The robbers, meanwhile, were involved in a whispered debate that was slowly starting to rise in volume, and neither seemed to notice or care about the exchange between the hostages. Which was good. They could definitely use that right about now, because Rick was concerned T.C. was only going to get worse the longer this ordeal went on.

Rick nodded his thanks to the woman and gave her a quick smile. Taking the scarf, he turned back to T.C. "Okay, brother," he said in a low tone. "This is gonna hurt." He started to wrap the light fabric around his friend's arm, hating the idea of the pain he was about to cause, but he needed to try to put as much pressure on the wound as possible. He didn't know how long it would be before they could get T.C. to help, so he had to do something fast.

When he tightened the scarf and twisted it, T.C. sucked in a quick breath and his good hand slapped the tile floor beside him. Rick's stomach clenched at the pain he knew his friend was feeling, but he just swallowed and wrapped the fabric around his friend's bicep a second time before tying it off. The makeshift bandage wasn't going to hold up for very long, but Rick hoped they wouldn't have to wait much longer for help. Something had to give soon; the robbers were looking increasingly panicked, and someone new was bound to pull up to the store at any moment—he was honestly surprised it had been so long with no new customers arriving.

Rick just hoped that, whatever happened, it wouldn't cause even more trouble.

* * *

From his place on the floor, T.C. clenched his right fist. It wasn't like he hadn't been shot before, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He tried to breathe steadily through his nose, attempting to focus on Rick's face above him rather than the pain itself.

Above him, he could see his friend watching the gunmen, and it was impossible to miss the way Rick's face was creased with worry.

Then Rick glanced back down and caught T.C.'s gaze and smiled encouragingly. "You're gonna be okay, T.C. Just hold on, all right?"

T.C. nodded slowly, grimacing as even that action seemed to hurt. His head was pounding, and he just wanted to go back to the moment when they'd decided to stop off at the store before their trip to the beach.

Something to the side caught his attention, and he could see Rick's head turn in that direction. T.C. tried to turn to follow his friend's gaze, but he was much slower as the movement aggravated his injuries even more.

"Nobody follows us. Got it?" one of the robbers snapped.

T.C. saw Rick nodding, then there were hurried footsteps, and then… silence.

"They're gone," Rick breathed, turning back to his friend.

When the scarf around his arm shifted, T.C. couldn't hold back the small cry of pain that forced its way out. The white-hot pain of the bullet wound flared again, and it shot through his shoulder and neck to mix with the throbbing in his head.

"Sorry, sorry," Rick apologized quickly.

T.C. could see the way his friend's jaw was clenched, and he wanted to shift to check his arm, to see how much damage had actually been done, but the movement just made the pain flare up again. He laid back, trying to catch his breath, as Rick put a hand on his chest.

Rick shook his head as if correcting an errant child. "Stay still, big guy," he ordered. "Help's on the way."

As much as T.C. wanted to argue, the adrenaline was long since wearing off and everything hurt. Maybe he'd just rest his eyes for a few minutes while they waited for the ambulance…

* * *

"Will you stop telling people I passed out from a gunshot wound to the arm?" T.C. rolled his eyes at Rick.

His friend, perched on a chair near the hospital bed, didn't look the slightest bit repentant. "Then what do you call it? Taking a nap because there was nothing else to do?"

From where he sat next to Rick, Shammy shook his head. "I still can't believe you two got held up at gunpoint—and shot—during a five-minute pit stop. You know how many times that place got robbed while I sat outside? Zero."

"Hey, don't hate just because you missed out on all the excitement because you were 'busy' this morning and 'couldn't come' surfing." Rick smirked.

As his friends continued to banter, T.C. sighed and settled back against the pillows. Yeah, they had maybe had too much excitement that morning, and it was—unfortunately—going to be a while before he could get out on the waves again, but he'd worry about that later. For now, he was just grateful for friends like Rick who hadn't let him bleed out on a convenience store floor. And for the really good drugs that the doctors had him on.

Yeah, he decided, tuning back in to the others' argument, he'd worry about everything else later.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
